


Wake Up Where You Are

by saltandbyrne



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Barebacking, Community: spn-masquerade, Consensual Somnophilia, Dirty Talk, M/M, Top Dean Winchester/Bottom Sam Winchester, Underage Sex, Weecest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 17:12:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16141769
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltandbyrne/pseuds/saltandbyrne
Summary: Written for Round 5 of spn_masquerade for the prompt:It's something they've talked about before, something Sam has practically begged him for ("please, Dean. Just wanna wake up with you inside me."), though Dean hasn't had the chance to do it yet. More often than not, his kid brother tries hard to stay awake when he knows Dean might be coming home. But they finish a hunt a couple days earlier than expected, and John takes off to Bobby's with the truck, leaving Dean to go back to the motel and pick up Sam.





	Wake Up Where You Are

**Author's Note:**

  * For [non_tiembo_mala](https://archiveofourown.org/users/non_tiembo_mala/gifts).



> Sam is 14. The somnophilia is discussed before it happens and is consensual.

Sam’s hair always turns the dishwater sunlight of their borrowed homes into gold.

Crimped and messy where Dean’s hands had just been buried tight, it spreads over the lumpy pillow they’ve been sharing all morning.  It stinks just like the rest of their room, the high tide of two teenage boys on a three-day bender for each other’s tireless bodies.  They’re gonna need to air the fuck out of this place before Dad gets back.

“Do it again,” Sam sighs, sleepy-soft against the sheets where he’s little spooned into Dean’s sweaty chest.  With the relentless certainty of a boy in love, Dean sinks his brother-pruned fingers back into Sam’s open, loved-up body and revels in his own mess.  Sam’s always his on the inside but it’s better when he can feel it 

“Spoiled.”

Like Dean would have him any other way.  He sinks his fingers knuckle-deep, twisting softly just to savor the wet squelch of Sam all open and ready for him.  Sam should always be like this, mumbling blissfully and pulsing wetter for Dean than any girl ever could.  A week without Dad gets Sam the wifed-up kind of dreamy, horny and hungry for Dean, creamed and sweet until there’s no room left for the angry “fourteen’s the age of consent in a ton of states, Dean”-year-old who pouts and glowers at their increasingly haggard father. 

“M’sleepy,” Sam mumbles, the answering swerve of his back against Dean’s triple-fingers putting the lie to that shit.  Most times Sam’s only use for sleep is so he can make the most of Dean’s morning wood, not that Dean’s complaining.

“Want you to put it in me when I fall asleep.”

Dean’s curse is lost in the sweaty, kiss-bitten nape of Sam’s neck for all that’s it ragged.  Fucking Sam. 

“I bore you that much, Sammy?”

Dean crooks his fingers just so, earns a puppy whimper for his effort. 

“I just wanna wake up with you inside me.”

Dean gets his hands back in his little brother’s hair and thanks God their Dad’s gone for another two days.

~

Dean hates leaving his brother behind. 

Sam sulks and finds a million little cruelties to make Dean suffer for his infidelity.  Dad gets bristly as a boar at Sam’s endless goading until it’s just Dean stuck in the middle, chafed on both sides by the two people he loves most, worn smooth as a piece of old sandpaper. 

Now, with his father peppered in buckshot and Dean’s second-best pair of jeans half-eaten with whatever the fuck this stank-ass lake monster had spooged all over him, Dean’s glad Sam’s safe at the Lucky Lady Hide-A-Way.  A sullen Sam is still better than a hurt one.

Dean’s shucking his pants off when Dad tosses him the keys.

“Bobby’s coming to get me.  Needs a hand with a poltergeist outside of Raleigh.”

John grimaces as he slings his duffel over his shoulder.  The constellation of buckshot on his side won’t kill him but it’ll be a bitch healing up.

“Want you to go fetch your brother and meet up with us.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean says, nodding once as he pulls on an old pair of sweatpants.  They’re the only clean thing he has left, and he’s not crawling into bed with Sam covered in monster goo.

 “Might take me an extra day or two to pull him out of school.  Don’t want to cause a fuss like we had in Brewster.  Sir,” Dean adds, hoping he doesn’t sound too eager.

“Yeah, good thinking, kid.”  John’s barely paying attention anyway.  Dean’s skin hums around the car keys.  He can do a lot with an extra day or two.

“Not a scratch on her,” John adds, cocking an eyebrow as Dean slides into the driver’s seat.  He’ll notice a stray M&M on the Impala’s floor before he notices the purple hearts dotting his younger son’s back.

“Not a scratch."

Dean puts his foot to the floor and lets her have her head all the way back.

~

It’s past two when he pulls in, all murky black from the withered streetlights and shut-up houses around their motel.  It’s the kind of town where the tracks have two wrong sides, but it glitters like a fairy castle as Dean rolls into their parking space.  Four days without Sam and he’s strung out, itching under his skin and worrying his lip to shit as he slides his key in the door.

Sam’s the agile one but Dean can be silent, too.  The door’s closed and he’s standing at the frame of their bedroom quiet as a cat burglar, socked feet sliding across the floor without a creak.

Sam’s a tummy-sleeper, arms spread wide and his legs spidered out like he can’t stand an inch of empty mattress.  It looks so much bigger with just Sam’s skinny body snaking under the sheets. 

Dean’s half hard before he even slips under the covers.  There’s a million things wrong with Dean, most of them starting with Sam and ending with Y, but it has to be a special kind of wrong that gets him so hard when he has to make himself go slow.  It’s torture, moving molasses-easy so he doesn’t squeak the shitty mattress, inching closer to Sam’s warmth without changing the steady rhythm of his breath, ghosting his fingers down the slalom of Sam’s spine and under the worn elastic of his briefs.  Dean’s cock leaks a greedy streak of precome, darkening his sweatpants with a stain that would be shameful in the light of day. 

Sam’s spent more time sleeping next to Dean than he hasn’t.  He blinks a little, hums in his throat, wriggles back against Dean’s body without any sign of waking.  Sam’s a warm sleeper and there’s nothing but a flimsy pair of briefs between Dean and heaven.  In a slow drag that takes a million years even if it’s only a minute or two, Dean inches them down until Sam’s ass is bare for Dean’s greedy hands. 

Sometimes Dean wonders when things really started.  It’s so easy to drift between the bliss of sleep and the twilight guilt of wet sheets and sticky fingers.  Sam’s been his forever, that’s all he knows for sure.  Sam sleepy-smacks his lips and spreads his legs for the press of Dean’s finger, his hole warm and snug from Dean’s absence.  For all Sam’s groggy familiarity as Dean smears palm-warmed lube over his secret places, it’s a first-time kiss when Dean sinks his trigger finger in to the hilt.  Dean swallows down a second of worry that he can’t get Sam more open without waking him up, but then Sam pulses body warm around his finger and Dean’s only worry is swallowing every sound Sam makes.  He pushes his pants down just enough to get his cock out, leaking obscenely and streaking the sheets as he slots himself between Sam’s legs.

There’s only so slow he can go against the tight heat of Sam’s body.  Ignored as he’s been, Sam still opens to the press of Dean’s cock, slick with lube and the wet spurt of his own anticipation.  One shaking arm holds him up while Dean thumbs the throbbing head of his dick into his brother’s ass, where it’s warm and tight and nothing else matters.  All the worn-worry and heavy weight of his life fades away, narrowed down to the welcome grasp of Sam’s hole as he sinks deep and curls his body over Sam’s.

Dean knows this rhythm the same as breathing, same as the road rolling along under their wheels, same as the shaky sighs Sam makes as Dean slow-fucks him like it’s the first time instead of the thousandth.  There’s barely a sound to give them away.  Dad could be sitting right next to them and be none with wiser, a fact Dean knows from experience. 

A sharp breath shakes Dean out of his fog.  Sam tenses beneath him, his head turning and his hole clutching up so tight it hurts. 

“Dean?”

“Shh, it’s me, baby, it’s me, I’m home.”

Sam licks his lips, blinks a few times, rolls his shoulders like he’s testing the space between them.  Dean closes it, pressing his chest to Sam’s back, curling around him like he can shield Sam from everything lurking outside the safety of bedsheets and whispered promises.

“Quiet,” Sam whispers, an old admonishment as much to himself as to Dean, a charm against Dad’s occasional sobriety and sporadic attention.

“It’s just me, Sammy.  Couldn’t wait.”

He sneaks one arm under Sam, braces it across his shoulders.  Sam’s one sneeze away from a growth spurt and Dean holds him every chance he gets.

“Missed you,” Sam whimpers, warming up to his outside voice.   “So much.”

“Still mine, aren’t you, Sammy?”

Dean grins against the shell of Sam’s ear, burying himself deep and grinding against Sam’s quiver.  Sam likes hearing it 

“Fuck this hole whenever I feel like it?”

“Want it, Dean, please.”  Sam writhes back against him, his hands balling the sheets as he tries to get traction.  Something unfurls in Dean, hungry and eager, baring its fangs at Sam’s bare-assed eagerness.

“Got us a few days alone, baby, just you and me.”

Dean kisses along the curve of Sam’s neck, drunk on the sleep-smell and softness of him. 

“Gonna fuck you to sleep every night and wake you up on my dick, Sammy.”  Dean grins, dizzy on his own voice and the shameless, wet sounds of their bodies meeting.  Sam always comes on a hair-trigger when Dean’s inside him, and it barely takes a few strokes of Dean’s hand to get him choking on Dean’s name and spurting into the sheets.  There’s no hope for Dean after that, not with the whines and bucks of Sam beneath him, the groan of the bedsprings and the promise of a few days of borrowed freedom.  Dean comes in his brother like he has a thousand times before and will a thousand times again.

“You promise? Every night?”  Sam’s words are slurred but there’s that glint of little brother in them that makes Dean’s heart stutter.

“Promise, Sammy.”


End file.
